


dear forgiveness, i saved a plate for you

by Kierkegarden



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1920s, Anachronistic, Bittersweet, Canon Gay Character, Character Study, Crack Treated Seriously, Dialogue Heavy, Fantastic Beasts era, Lesbian Character, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Mental Health Issues, Period Typical Attitudes, Possession, Therapy, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 23:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kierkegarden/pseuds/Kierkegarden
Summary: Almost thirty years after Ariana's death, a stagnant and repressed Albus Dumbledore decides he could use some counseling. Susan Wybourne, a dirt-poor and unconventional muggle therapist, is just the woman for the job.





	dear forgiveness, i saved a plate for you

**Author's Note:**

> So my fiancee told me that all of my fics read like therapy sessions and from that, this was born. Above all else, this is a character study. I'm not tagging it 'gen' because the Grindeldore undertones backdrop the story from start to finish, but neither of the relationships are front-and-center and neither are portrayed as healthy.
> 
> The title is from one of my favorite poems, Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken.
> 
>  
> 
> _to Susan_

The mind malady wing was on the second floor of St. Mungo’s. Its size, four small cells pushed off into a corner, said more about wizarding mental health care than the Mediwizard who met Albus in one of them. _Barnabus_ , his small name tag read. His head was as clinically polished and white as the hospital’s walls.

“To answer your question Professor Dumbledore, there are very few things we can do without completely erasing the memories,” Barnabus crossed one hand over the other, elbows resting on the table, “I’d really suggest looking at our options for selective memory removal. It’s fast, nondisruptive, and completely painless.”

Albus sighed. Erasing the memory of Gellert would have at one point been an option, but he had grown since then. So much of himself was sculpted around the choices he had made that summer. He couldn’t risk that kind of senselessness.

“If it helps,” he said, “I don’t need to stop thinking about the painful memories. I just want to take the edge off of them.”

Barnabus brightened. “Have you considered a _Potio Felicitas_? It’s a bit more expensive, but after about a month you’ll start feeling the effects. A general shift in demeanor. Patients describe it like the taste of warm mashed potatoes and gravy, but perpetually. As a mood.”

“That sounds pleasant,” Albus’s eyes twinkled. Barnabus had an awfully matter-of-fact way of talking. “What are the side effects?”

“Well, everyone who gets the prescription is monitored for the first few months. There seems to be a few patterns. Decline in intellect, lack of motivation, weight gain. Some folks get uncontrollable giggling and have to be treated for that up on the third floor.”

Albus’s brow furrowed as he looked out over Barnabus’s head to the rest of the bustling disease ward. If only wizards put as much time into treating trauma as they put into treating scrofungulus. Albus supposed that most wizards would view a partial obliviate like a mental version of Skele-grow. It was a short-cut to quickly make a more liveable reality. That was when a wildly unconventional idea came into his head.

“Thank you so much, Barnabus,” Albus stood up, pulling his coat up over his shoulders, “It was good of you to meet with me.”

“It’s not a problem at all,” the Mediwizard looked slightly dumbfounded. “So shall I book you with a Potions specialist?”

Swinging the door to the small room open, Albus looked back at him and smiled.

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

 

The woman had a boxy frame and broad shoulders that she tried to hide in a high-necked blouse. The wiry blond hair that framed her face was cut in a Modern Girl hairstyle, a few years too late for it to be fashionable. Albus had been reading a year old copy of _Vanity Fair_ as he waited for her, which was the only reason he knew that.

“Professor Dumbledore,” she said, in a surprising soft voice. If she was put off by his long plaited hair or purple overcoat, she was good at hiding it. “Am I pronouncing that right?”

“Perfectly,” said Albus with a smile, “but you can call me Albus. Ms. Wybourne?”

“Susan, please, it’s only fair,” she corrected, “Come with me.”

As Albus walked behind her down a narrow hallway, the stench of cigarettes from the reception area faded. The building was old, the carpeting inlaid with a layer of mildew, and the heat was off. Susan clearly couldn’t afford much for her office space, but that didn’t deter Albus. It was simple: a desk, a bookcase, a couch, and a window that overlooked London’s East End.

He sat on the frayed brown upholstery of the couch and looked up at her, realizing rapidly that he had no idea what was about to happen.

“I know it’s unconventional,” Susan said, seating herself at the desk, “I haven’t got a typewriter so I’m going to take notes on paper. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” said Albus, “Of course.”

 _“What’s a typewriter?”_ would probably make him look like more of a loon than he already did. Outside the window, automobiles puttered loudly along the cobble road. Elphias was from around here. Albus wondered if he ever came back to visit. Probably not, the sense of disbelonging felt too heavy.

“Albus?” Susan said, shaking him out of his thoughts, “Perhaps you should start off just telling me a bit about yourself. Where do you teach?”

Albus turned quickly. “Certainly not Oxford.”

They shared a smile that was painfully fake, before Susan wrapped her pen loudly against her notepad.

“Look. You’re only going to get out of this what you put in.”

 

It was an exercise in balancing the truth-to-lie ratio so that the statute wasn’t upset and so that Susan didn’t suspect he was hiding anything. Only, it was more exhausting than Albus could have ever planned for. Susan had eyes that pierced deeply through the surface. She wasn’t afraid to tell him when she knew he was withholding information in a voice Albus thought too soft to be delivering such heavy blows. It reminded Albus of himself and he didn’t like it one bit. He found himself too overwhelmed to even talk sometimes, when she looked at him expectantly. The pauses were pregnant. Albus felt exposed.

“Tell me what you like to do for fun,” she said when the staring contest between covertly calculating looks became too much.

Albus thought about what muggles did for fun, but his knowledge was limited to Enlightenment-era philosophy and year-old magazines _._ “Aside from grading papers,” he managed a casual smile, “Tenpin-bowling. Backgammon. You know, games.”

“You can relax, Albus,” Susan laughed suddenly through her nose. “I’m not asking for your life story. What do you do on, say, Saturday afternoon?”

“Not much,” answered Albus, a titch more honestly, “I like to stay busy with work. Sometimes I read books, or the paper.”

Susan scribbled something on her notepad. “Why do you like to stay busy?”

Albus shrugged. “I guess it’s better than the alternative.” The office was beginning to feel like a cell at St. Mungo’s. It was stiflingly small and constantly frigid. Looking out the window gave him vertigo, so he was forced to look directly at Susan, feeling more like a schoolboy than a professor.

“What’s the alternative?”

“Oh, you know,” Albus said. _Thinking about the past._

No matter what Albus did, or how badly he would have liked to avoid it, dodging the past wasn't an option. Gellert's face jumped out at him, grimacing from the covers of magazines. His name headlined The Prophet almost daily. Wanted posters peppered every wizarding bar, assaulting him in bold-face print. _HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD?_ Every damned day, Albus thought whenever he walked by one. There was no escaping it. Gellert was at war with the wizarding world, and it was becoming obvious that he was a formidable opponent.

Of course, there was no way of explaining that to Susan, so Albus didn’t bother.

 

It was a hot summer day and Susan wore a suit jacket, a button down blouse and a pair of black trousers. The outfit seemed intentional in a way that Albus couldn’t quite pinpoint until they were sitting in her office. They had been meeting for several months now, and Albus had confided in her about his students, his solitude, and his general melancholy. He had said as much as he was able to, given the circumstance, and recently Susan had cooled off on the accusatory statements.

“I’m not sure how to bridge this with you, Albus,” Susan said in a cool tone, “but I’ve been mulling it over and I feel that although it’s improper, it’s all I can do to further our meetings.”

Albus looked down at his feet, knuckles whitening on the couch’s arm. Whatever it was, he didn’t like the sound of it. It was his birthday today and he had contemplated skipping their weekly session. He still wasn’t sure whether it had ever been a good idea in the first place.

“Albus,” Susan took a breath, “Am I right in assuming that you are homosexual?”

Relief flooded over him as he looked back up at her. It was all he could do to not smile. Somehow, Albus found it within himself to manage a scowl.

“What tipped you off?”

Susan smiled warmly. “I just had a hunch. It’s alright, Albus, really. You’re not alone. I’m...well, you might have guessed already.”

Albus nodded. What was he supposed to tell her, that he had unintentionally discovered her lover, from the first time he had called her “ _Ms._ Wybourne”? Leglimency had a funny way of flaring up unintentionally, a sort of passive assurance in the back of his mind. Instead, he forged an expression of relief.

“Thank you, Susan. I honestly feel better, now that I don’t have to hide that part of myself. I feel like I can be more open.”

He didn’t, of course. Well, at least he hadn’t until she surprised him once again with her directness.

“Can you tell me about him?”

Albus’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  
“The ex-lover who made you fear love.” _Obviously,_ her eyebrows seemed to say, as she cocked her head. It was such a plain way to put something so emotionally exhausting. Perhaps that was why it worked.

“Alright,” said Albus, fighting his own lips and tongue as the words poured out of them, “I was eighteen. He was sixteen, a delinquent type. He had been kicked out of school.”

“I see,” said Susan.

“My mother had just passed away earlier that summer. I was in charge of my younger brother and sister. We lived in a small town, it was difficult to, you know, meet people.”

Scribble, scribble. If not for the notepad, Albus could almost pretend that for the first time in his life, he was opening up to a friend.

Susan glanced up at him, lowering her pen. “How did you two meet?”

“He went to live with his aunt, our next door neighbor. It was like the stars aligning, at the time. He was one of a kind, not the sort of bad-mannered boy you’d expect. He was intelligent, and charming, and just so...radiant.”

Gellert had once described a vision - two thrones melded, three hallows on pedestals, a night sky glittering with stars. Visions were never linear, or naturalistic, he had said, but the feeling - the feeling was unaffected.

Susan shifted in her seat. “Have you spoken to each other lately?”

“He’s written to me,” said Albus, “Five times. I haven’t read them, of course. It’s just easier not to think about it.”

 

Sometimes Susan scribbled so much on that pad of hers that Albus found it hard to believe she was writing about their session. He imagined it was her grocery list, or perhaps a letter to her mother. Something innocuous. She never gave off that she was bored by their meetings, but Albus wished secretly that she was. He didn’t want his life story to be a spectacle, the relationship already felt fake enough as it was.

He had a lot on his mind that afternoon and had once again fought the urge not to show. There had been no movement on Gellert’s part for two months now, almost as though he were planning an affrontive. Minister Fawley was holding a meeting about the war this afternoon. Albus was missing it for this. Susan was also clearly ill at ease, foot tapping and hand scribbling before Albus sat down.

“Gellert is an interesting name,” she said, when Albus finally looked at her. Her eyes challenged him to continue, “He’s not from the British Isles, is he?”

Albus felt his lip twitch downwards. He should have never told her Gellert’s name. It felt like a waste of time.

“Gellert is Hungarian. The name, I mean.”

“And Gellert the person?”

“Mostly Austrian.”

“I see,” Susan said, “May I be blunt and ask if he was German intelligence?”

Albus’s chest tightened and then relaxed. Susan was talking about intelligence in a muggle war - the Great War. The muggle war that had impeded Gellert and had been far from the wizarding world’s problem until it was too late. No issue of The Prophet had even mentioned it, but they had made sure to brag about wizarding aid in antebellum recovery efforts.   

“No, no,” said Albus, “Gellert would never take orders from anyone.”

“Not even you?” Susan smiled.

Albus narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“It was a joke, Albus,” Susan said, and then added sincerely, “Would you prefer if I didn’t joke about your relationship with him?”

“Yes,” said Albus, before he could think about it.

 

It had been six months since Albus had first set foot in Susan’s office. Sometimes, the relationship between them felt mechanical and sometimes utterly painful. Albus felt the tension of his untouched feelings surrounding that summer spun out like wool. He was less and less resistant as Susan became more and more direct. Was it _working?_ That much, Albus couldn’t say.

He was beginning to get the impression that her approach was experimental. After observing the way her hand shook around her pen when she looked him dead in the eyes, he had decided to drop the game and ask her.

“It’s 1926 and I’m a working lesbian,” Susan explained, “Most of my peers see me as mentally unstable. My entire career is an experiment. Is it working?”

Albus thought their sessions felt a bit more balanced after that. If he tried hard enough, he could even convince himself that Susan was actually his friend. The cards were stacked against her too, after all.

 

It was Saturday, a crisp autumn afternoon. Albus had spent the morning exchanging his wizarding currency to pay for another month of therapy, and circling through Tower Fields alone. There was a sort of stillness to cemeteries that emphasized bird calls and the susurrus of leaves underfoot. Albus could feel it rattle him all the way to the bone. When I die, he thought to himself, the Wizarding community will line up to mourn my greatness. It will be a few months before they forget. Then nobody will leave flowers on my tomb.

When he sat down on the moldy upholstery in Susan’s office, he spoke first.

“Susan, today I realized that I don’t have any real friends.” The epiphone had been pending for a long time. Albus Dumbledore was one of the most important names in the Wizarding World, but that’s all that he was. There was nobody to share that success with, or confide in.

Susan pulled her overcoat tighter around herself. The weather was getting colder and she still hadn’t bothered to heat her office. Albus had thought about paying for it himself, he had galleons worth of funds just sitting in Gringotts with a favorable exchange rate, but Susan was proud. She would likely just be insulted.

“What about your friend Elphias? Or Nicholas, who you mention occasionally, or Newt?”

“Newt is one of my old students,” said Albus, “Nicholas is an academic colleague, and Elphias is a childhood friend.”

“Any of whom you could become close friends with,” Susan shrugged, “Is there something keeping you from them?”

“I rarely see anyone outside of work,” said Albus, “I don’t know why. I spend most of my free time alone.”

“Do you remember a time when you had more friends?”

Albus thought about it. Through Hogwarts, he had been close with Elphias, as awkward as the on-and-off relationship of two schoolboys can be. There was little chemistry between the two of them to start, and if Albus was going to be honest with himself, he had been arrogant, and unkind, and used Elphias to keep his own insecurities at bay. The wizarding world was more accepting of men like them, but it had taken Albus a bit of time to come to terms with it. Anything that he had once had with Elphias had been cast aside that summer, as the fireball of Gellert’s laugh had rolled into Godric’s Hollow, burning his letters in its wake.

Then there had been Nicholas Flamel, a decent distraction through his twenties and thirties. Academically, the two men had similar interests and a decent sense of kinship. Albus had made time to see him at the alchemical conference in Cairo several years ago - the same conference where he had once collected awards as a student. But Nicholas was reserved and busy and always on the move, and Albus felt hesitant to bother him. Besides, there was always that lingering voice in the back of his mind insisting that if it were Gellert, they would be side-by-side on those adventures. Nicholas sent an owl every now and again, and Albus dutifully responded. That was all.

Newt was a different case entirely. He had been a bright boy, severely lagging behind in transfiguration classes. Albus had seen his potential, and decided to tutor him, quickly unleashing a powerful love of magic in the boy that he retained to this day. Newt’s true passion had been magical creatures and, like Nicholas, he was always on the move to pursue it. Newt wrote Albus frequent, prolific letters, and receiving them put a smile on the professor’s face. He could still see that pudgy faced boy wrapping on his desk with his wand, clearly bored with the dryness that even magical academia too frequently yielded.

“Albus?”

Albus jumped as Susan’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he smiled apologetically, “Can you repeat that?”

“Have you ever had more friends?”

Albus gently tugged his beard, and looked up at the fluorescent lamp that was flickering in its socket above his head. “Not really. The students come and go, but for the most part, it’s been the same cast of characters fading in and out of my life since I was a boy.” The wizarding world is only so big _,_ he wanted to say. Instead, he let Susan chew on her pen in a beat of silence.

“I have an assignment for you,” she said at last, “Before we meet again, I want you to spend time with someone. Outside of work.”

“If you think it would help,” Albus nodded slowly. “I think that can be done.”

 

“I keep expecting the pins to dance away,” exclaimed Elphias in a too-loud-whisper, “Muggle games are so easy, I always forget.” His breath smelled strongly of liquor and was hot in Albus’s ear.  Already a titch drunk, Albus thought, but they were probably better for it. The muggle pin boys were giggling at what they thought was nonsense.

The alley was dimly lit, smooth maple floors waxed and glimmering. A crowd was gathering in the margins to watch their match, the card tables that peppered the edges of the room collecting flaggards from the attached bar. Albus took a step back towards them, as a muggle man snickered. His hair was tied up in a loose knot and buried under a hat. For all he had done to assimilate with the muggle world, Elphias stuck out from the other men like a sore thumb. His robes flapped behind him as he took his address.

“C’mon,” Albus whispered, grabbing Elphias roughly by the arm, “Let’s get out of here.” It was about time they left anyway, Albus thought to himself. He didn’t enjoy being made a spectacle and if they stayed much longer, Elphias would be cross with him when he sobered up.

“Think you can apparate?”

“Hrmm,” said Elphias, looking up with those big brown eyes, “I think so.”

 

As soon as their feet hit the ground of the Leaky Cauldron, Elphias - a shade paler than he had been before - ran to the men’s room. He returned smiling sheepishly and eyes a bit more focussed, as Albus ordered a large bowl of stew.

“I apologize,” said Elphias. “I’m a bit embarrassed. Can’t hold my liquor like I once could.”

Albus returned the smile. “We’re not boys anymore, Elphias. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

They sat at a small table by the window, the reflection of candle light flickering against the glass. Despite himself, Albus felt his heart pounding in his chest. Guilt had been creeping over him all evening and he couldn’t seem to shake it. At least Elphias was having a good time. Albus had correctly guessed that his old friend rarely got out these days, that the Ministry kept him busy. If not for Susan, Albus thought to himself, I would have been perfectly content to never see him again.

Elphias, on the other hand, eyelashes fluttering towards the candlelit array, was clearly flattered.

“What happened, Albus? When we were boys?” He raised a spoonful of stew to his lips. Lips that were small and soft, if Albus remembered correctly. Somehow, although the both of them had been virgins, Elphias had always been a damned good kisser. Perhaps that was why he had kept coming back, breaking his heart again and again. Albus could feel his heartbeat tangibly now, as if it were external, his pulse louder than the soft music of the pub and the chatting of patrons. This was all wrong.

“Elphias,” Albus said carefully, “We’re well into our forties, my friend. These days have not been kind to me. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out since…”

“Don’t you dare be modest,” Elphias leaned forward, “You’re the envy of the wizarding world, Albus Dumbledore.”

Their lips were close, and then they were touching, and before Albus knew what was going on, they were breaking with a wet little noise and Elphias’s hands were resting on his shoulder blade. Albus saw himself through Elphias’s eyes, Leglimency taking a mind of its own. He looked so beautiful there.

“Elphias, we have to stop.” said Albus, breathlessly, pulling Elphias towards him for another kiss. Drinking in the power of whatever it was that made Elphias think he was wonderful, that schoolboy delirium.

“Oh really?” said Elphias when they broke apart, “Then why don’t you?”

Albus booked them a room without another hesitation, his body taking over whatever mental processes he had left.

 

The following week, Albus almost missed his session again. He sat on his bed, legs pulled tightly up to his chest, and his book perched against his chin. His eyes flickered from his pocket watch to the page, words blurring. He used to be such an expert as deflection. What had gotten into him?

When he finally faced Susan, she was smirking.

“You’re late, Albus,” she gestured at the clock above her desk, “Typically, I don’t see clients who show up over ten minutes late. Let alone in their bathrobe.”

Albus flinched, looking down at himself. Sure enough, he had forgotten to put on muggle clothes. The shimmering teal fabric must have been the reason that everyone had been staring at him on the train over. He had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t really noticed until now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “It is rather embarrassing, isn’t it? I can make my exit.”

Susan shook her head. “No, Albus, stay. Tell me about your week. Did you spend time with someone outside of work like we discussed?”

Albus couldn’t find it in himself to make eye-contact. “It didn’t go exactly to plan, but yes.”

“What happened?”

Albus leaned back on the couch, head tilting so far up that he could count the panels on the ceiling. Eight moldy panels, in this tiny, moldy, miserable room. The icy air cut directly through the thin fabric of his robe, and he shivered.

“You know what I said about the same cast of characters dominating my life since I was eighteen?” he said slowly, “I’m trapped there. I need new friends, new people to see. Something fresh. I need to stop projecting my boyhood self on everyone I interact with.”

Susan nodded slowly, pen making loops around something she had once written down. “What do you think keeps you stuck there, Albus?”

“You just circled his name,” Albus didn’t need Leglimency to know that, “Do you really have to be so cruel and make me say it?”

 

 _Dear Elphias,_ Albus wrote, _I’m sorry about the other night._ He crumpled up the parchment and let it fall at his feet. Elphias was perfectly content with a one-sided love affair that tapered into nothingness, revived every few years when Albus got lonely. If he wasn’t content with that kind of relationship, he should have said something.

Albus shook his head. It wasn’t right. It hadn’t been right when he was a boy and it was especially not right now. The wizarding world was so small, was the only thing, and it felt like a vacuum where teenagers learn magic and fall in love, marry and have children, get jobs at the Ministry and move on. There was no place for Albus in a world like that.

Elphias might have been content with letting Albus use him again and again, but Albus couldn’t stomach it. Not anymore. He made a resolution that night to expand his world past the bounds of his adolescence. For Elphias’s sake, he told himself, and for my own.

 

The snow was already sticking, pillowing gently into a soft layer at Albus’s feet. He could feel its icy sting through the toe of his boots and he increased his pace, trudging up the path to the Flamel Manor. It was a grand estate, a reflection of its resident’s prestige. The rocky exterior made way for flying buttresses and three towers at its peak. Albus clung tightly to the hot lemon tart he was holding, sending wandless magic through the tray so that it wouldn’t get cold.

It was the early Christmas party for the international alchemical society. Albus received an invitation every year, but always managed to find an excuse not to go. He had never been fond of parties, preferring to socialize one-on-one. Plus, the society was constantly bothering him to leave Hogwarts and continue his research in the field. This year, however, he had decided there was no excuse. His past had kept him chained to loneliness for too long.

The door swung open and a plump witch greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “Albus Dumbledore!” she squealed, “It’s been too long!”

“Perenelle Flamel,” Albus embraced her, balancing his tart on his hand, “You don’t look a day older than when I saw you last.”

She ushered him into the inviting warmth of their sitting room, where other guests were laying plates of food down across a long table and mingling merrily. Setting the tart down, Albus filled a sugar-rimmed glass with punch. He seated himself in the corner, beside a bespectacled witch and a gigantic wizard who was laughing far too loudly.

The witch lowered her spectacles to get a better look at him. “Professor Dumbledore,” She was probably twice his age, with sleek grey hair and strong laughing wrinkles beside her eyes, “How many awards have you won now?”

Albus sighed deeply. This was how these functions always seemed to go. “Please, call me Albus. I’m sure my awards aren’t half as interesting as your research.”

“Hmph,” the witch brushed a strand of hair aside and cracked a smile, “Nonsense, my boy. Do you know who I am?”

“At the risk of insulting you, I’ll avoid the greater insult of using Leglimency,” Albus said, aiming to save himself, “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

It worked like a charm, and the older witch beamed, summoning more punch directly into her glass with her wand. The surrounding guests watched in horror as a bit of it splashed onto the carpet.

“Runa Trevil,” the witch winked at him, “When you’re my age, it’s more of an insult to be remembered. Means you’re funny-looking.”

Where had Albus heard the name before? He strained his memory. Something literary, certainly. She had the witty anecdotes of a writer, and the lack of social skills to match. “Runa Trevil...editor of --”

“Of the renowned scholarly journal _Transfiguration Today,”_ she finished for him, “In the flesh.”

Albus looked at her gratefully. Runa wasn’t nearly as stuffy as the others and hadn’t faulted him for choosing academia over fieldwork. He watched as she whispered a quiet _accio_ , summoning the entire tray of biscuits from the table and couldn’t help but chuckle. She set it down between them with a loud thump that made the wizard on Albus’s left cough loudly.

“When you’re old,” Runa said, through a mouthful of biscuit, “You can get away with these things. Makes life a lot more interesting. You remember that.”

Albus nodded, cracking a genuine smile. He drew his wand over the tray and lifted one biscuit at wand-point, dangling it over his mouth. Crumbs splattered everywhere as he took a messy bite. Runa shrieked with laughter, as the huge wizard got up and reseated himself across the room.

“I like you, Albus,” said Runa, when she finally stopped laughing, “You’re not really as aloof as everyone says.”

It was a backhanded compliment, but it was also more than fair. Albus leaned back and took a swig of the punch - a lemon-raspberry concoction so perfectly to Albus’s taste that he suspected there was magic involved.

“What’s your stake in tonight’s party, Runa?” he asked, “Or are you just here to make a bunch of uptight alchemists squirm?”

“That is a perk,” Runa snorted, “I’m here because we’re low on columnists. We’re looking for funny, engaging writers who can connect to our young readership. I’m afraid I’ve been losing that bit as the years go on.”

Albus smiled. Runa had referred to her age three times in their short conversation. He supposed that she was covering up her insecurity with humor. To a muggle, Albus would be middle-aged. To Runa, he was still a boy. A boy with more awards and name-recognition than she would likely have in her entire life.

“As a professor,” offered Albus, “I spend a good amount of time around young readers.”

“What are you getting at, boy?” Runa’s eyes narrowed to slits behind her spectacles. “I know full well you’d never leave Hogwarts to write in a periodical.”

Without thinking, Albus flicked his wand at a biscuit, which immediately flattened into a bit of parchment. His own handwriting looped itself across the scrap, spelling out his address in bevelled lettering.

“If you ever need a part-time columnist,” Albus pressed it into her palm, “Send an owl.”

 

“That’s great!” Susan’s face lit up when Albus told her the events of dinner party, “You’re expanding your list of contacts. That’s healthy. I’m really thrilled and you should be proud.”

Albus pulled the itchy wool blanket up to his chest. The blanket had appeared on the couch at the beginning of the month. Albus was secretly grateful that he didn’t have to risk insulting her and bring his own. The office was still frigid, and Susan herself was looking worse-for-wear, her hair having grown out of its short cut and now yielding a layer of grease. She still maintained the same composed expression, although her eyes were sunken in. Albus had been resisting the urge to ask if she was okay since the blanket had arrived.

“I’m not that proud of it,” Albus said, “going to a dinner party and coming out with a new job is not the same as coming out with a friend.”

“Right,” Susan nodded, “but at least you have a fresh start with some of the other columnists.”

Albus looked at her blankly. “I’ve turned them all into colleagues already.”

“What?”

“You know, at an arm’s length. ‘Oh, So-and-So, I’ve seen your article in The Prophet and --”

“ _The Prophet_?” Susan interrupted, laughing, “I’ve never heard of that. Is it a religious publication?”

Albus could feel himself turning beet red. The balance was precarious again, and he’d gone and breached it. “It was just an example. I don’t know. I’m feeling a bit strange today. Perhaps it’s best I leave early.” His coat was already in his hand when Susan stood and grabbed his arm.

“No, Albus, please,” she said, desperation creeping into her voice, “Please be honest with me. Is there something wrong with how I practice therapy?”

“Susan,” Albus sat, slowly setting his coat down beside him, ice cold fingers slipping into his trouser pockets, “This past year I’ve done more personal growth than I’ve done in the past 20 years combined. You are a master of the craft.”

Susan rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and sighed deeply. “You’re my last client, Albus. The others have left for more qualified, male practitioners. If there’s anything I can do to convince you to stay. Our sessions have been less than professional at times, I know. I’ll do better.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Albus said, reaching over to touch her wrist.

“Do something for me, Albus,” Susan’s voice was throaty and rough, as if she was talking more to herself than to him, “Burn those letters from Gellert. Lay him to rest.”

The burst of memories emanating out of her was so strong that Albus couldn’t evade them. Two women in a dim apartment yelled back and forth at each other as the cat ran under the table. The taller of the two, a redhead with a face full of freckles, was holding up an eviction notice. Albus watched Susan wipe her tears on her sleeve as she stormed out the door. The memory shifted, a restless night on familiar brown upholstery with the same scratchy wool blanket. Albus shook his head, desperately trying to divest the intrusive Leglimency.

“Albus?” Susan’s voice cut through the fog, “Can you do that for me?”

“Of course,” Albus said, “Of course I can.”

On the train home, Albus read The Prophet. _Grindelwald At Bay: No Sign Of The Dark Wizard In Months,_ boasted a headline. It was about time, he thought.

 

Albus took the weekend in Godric’s Hollow. The Dumbledore estate sat abandoned and heirless, buried under a heavy layer of snow. Albus could remember returning for Christmas during his Hogwarts days, decorating the tree with his brother while his sister strung paper snowflakes over the windows. He could barely see the outline of the curtains through the grime that had accumulated there.

When Albus finally calmed his shaking hands enough to turn the key in the lock, a wave of dust hit him. The place was exactly how they had left it after the funeral, down to the ever-blooming lilac blossoms in a glass vase on the table. Lilacs had been Ariana’s favorite. She would braid them through Albus’s hair in the most intricate patterns. He had always wondered where she had learned to do that.

Albus pushed up the creaky stairs to his childhood bedroom. Being here was physically painful. The silence, the dust and the grime. He’d been back at least a dozen times since that summer in the pensieve, reliving the events. His arms reaching to help Gellert out of the old willow tree in their backyard, and into his window. The first time Aberforth had confronted him about shirking his family responsibilities. The silent, guilty feeling of slipping Elphias’s letters inside his top desk drawer. Crawling back into Gellert’s arms, back into the warmth of his bed. Hours of talking - in the Bagshot library, in the forest and down the hill, by the creek and in the graveyard. The cruciatus curse hitting Aberforth’s chest square on, his brother’s eyes filling with tears, looking at Albus instead of Gellert. By the time he had seen Ariana join them on the banks, her face was drained of color and her eyes were lifeless, water lapping at her hair.

Every memory was a ghost here.

Albus let himself sink into that bed again. He pulled the letters from his coat pocket, and held them up to the light that streamed through the window, letting the dust cloud around them, dancing.

“Well, Gellert,” he said softly, running his forefinger along the seam of the first envelope. Albus traced his name in Gellert’s writing, the Hallows sign on the wax stamp. For a moment, he considered opening it. Then, he drew his wand and aimed it at the pile of letters.

“ _Diffindo._ ”

Shreds of paper burst confetti-like, drifting to the ground and across the bed like fresh snow. For the first time in over twenty years, Albus allowed himself a good, honest cry.

 

It was not yet Christmas, although the month of December had felt like it spanned decades. Albus looked out from his window one morning, tea in hand, admiring the glittering snow over the Forbidden Forest. December at Hogwarts always felt lively, with students humming carols, and chattering excitedly about their plans over the holiday. It all led to a lonely peak, but for the time, it put Albus in a pleasant mood.

He couldn’t have known that morning, when the tawny barn owl perched right up against his windowsill, or when he cranked the window open and fed it a cracker from his hand. The letter was small in a cheap white envelope, postmarked from America. Albus instantly recognized the handwriting as Newt’s.

Albus couldn’t have known the horror he was going to feel when he opened it, and read the hasty note. Gellert Grindelwald discovered impersonating an American auror, escaping American custody just days later. When he finally managed to regain his breath, the questions flooded into Albus’s mind: _how, why and when?_ It crept up his spine, and all day his movements felt stilted.

Albus wrote the Minister in a shaky hand shortly after, leaving his tea cold at his desk. In his morning class, first years chatted excitedly about spending Christmas back home for the first time since they had left for Hogwarts. Albus barely heard them, their faces blurring as he taught mechanically, his smile never reaching his eyes.

 

“Albus,” said Susan, “It’s been a few weeks. How have you been?”

Albus scrubbed his face with his hand and closed his eyes behind his spectacles. He wanted to tell her everything, but was too tired to figure out how to fit it into words she could understand.

“I destroyed the letters,” he offered, looking glumly at his feet.

“Alright, that’s wonderful. Huge progress. How do you feel?”

Albus sighed. There was no point in trying to hide it. “Worse.”

“Oh,” Susan wrote a quick note before looking up at him again, “Is there something specific that’s happened?”

“Just the season. This time of year is hard for me since I don’t have much of a family.”

Susan looked skeptical. “There’s something else on your mind.”

Albus could feel her eyes boring into him. He pushed his feet against the floor and pictured disappearing into the couch. It seemed preferable to enduring this. He wanted honesty, wanted to tell her everything, if only so that she could give him advice on what to do.

“Perhaps it was too soon to destroy the letters,” Susan flushed slightly, in frustration or embarrassment, “Perhaps I was projecting when I told you to burn them.”

“Perhaps,” Albus agreed, ready to alleviate the blame, “Perhaps I need time to deal with this alone. I’ll send you a check. Find yourself somewhere to live, Susan. Thanks for everything.” Albus stood and swung the door open in one move. It clattered back on it’s hinges with a loud _slam._

“Wait!” Susan called after him, but Albus was already storming past her office, past the row of closed doors, past the waiting room with the dusty magazines, and out into the street. He looked over his shoulder at the behemoth of a building, pulled his scarf tightly around him, and left her behind.

 

As the Hogwarts halls cleared out for vacation, Albus was beginning to feel his dread transforming into anxiety. The footfall of students lost in the building’s winding corridors was so rare these days, that when Albus heard it, he spun around, wand pointed at some innocent third-year with terrified eyes. He saw Gellert everywhere: in The Prophet Christmas morning, in the back of the muggle novel he was reading, in the wrinkles creasing on Horace Slughorn’s brow as they graded papers together one afternoon.

“What is it, Albus?” the other professor said, when he caught Albus staring, “Is my old face really that pretty?”

Albus had shivered. Summers ago, Gellert was sprite-like and lithe, young skin taut over lean muscles. The years hadn’t treated him well, if his wanted poster was honest. Dark magic degraded one’s looks faster than worry.

If this really is you, Gellert, Albus had thought to himself - knowing full well that Gellert would read them - You’ve just won yourself another checkmate.

But Slughorn returned to grading papers, showing no sign of recognition.

“You’re a strange one, Albus,” he said when he left, “Very strange indeed.”

Was he going crazy? Perhaps, Albus thought. Could a crazy person diagnose his own insanity? Yet, wherever he went, Gellert followed like a shadow. At night, Albus lay awake contemplating how he had done it. Months of polyjuice perhaps, or maybe he had learned to split his consciousness from his mortal frame, delving deep into the auror’s body and violating it.

Possession, violation. It wasn’t a far cry from how Albus felt. He wondered how it felt to have another soul forced inside of your body, if there was any element of struggle or if Gellert just took the reins and his mind could be laid to rest.

Albus had jumped through the hoops. He had rekindled old friendships, made the effort to spark new ones. He had even destroyed the damned letters but he couldn’t get Gellert out of his life. Not when the Minister had him on call for advice. Not when whispers of his name could be heard around every corner. Gellert was more than a man, he was a _storm_ and the entire wizarding world was caught in it. Susan’s office had been Albus’s haven from it.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, Albus reached for a piece of stationary.

 

“Hello, Albus,” Susan’s voice was cold, a contrast to the warmth from the radiator in the corner. Albus sat on the couch, leaning his head towards the bolted window. The heat was stifling and his head was spinning. He felt like an addict crawling back to the opium den, the guilt making his heart beat in rapid, heavy waves.

“I’m sorry,” said Albus, “I was wrong to storm out like that.”

Susan’s eyes narrowed at him. “I’m a therapist, Albus. I’m used to outbursts.”

“It was childish of me. You were right. I’m not telling you the full story, but something’s come up.”

“Yeah?” Susan’s knuckles pressed into the arms of her chair. She hadn’t bothered to get her notepad and her eyes were focussed directly on him, “Do you want to know what I think?”

Albus bit his lip. “Fine.”

“I used to think you didn’t want to tell me the little details of your life because you and Gellert were intelligence agents. I thought, fine. I couldn’t fault you for wanting to protect British security. MI6 is public knowledge now, I’m sure you know,” Susan took a deep breath, “But I don’t think that anymore, Albus. You know what I do think? You’re a fraud who pretends to want to change. You pretend to get better, you pretend to become a good person, but you can’t because you’re still madly in love with a teenage boy. You’re a big phony, Albus Dumbledore. And you know what? That makes two of us. You actually thought I was a licensed therapist? I’m --”

Albus felt his entire body go cold, as he jumped to his feet, ripping his wand from his coat pocket and pointing it at her.

“Gellert,” he said under his breath, half disbelieving, “How did you do it? Possession? You really thought this out, didn’t you, old friend? Making her a lesbian was a nice touch, bet you thought that would make me open up, didn’t you?”

Susan looked from Albus’s face to his wand and back up again, and then let out a dark laugh. “You’re insane, Albus. Go seek actual help from an institution. I can’t believe I considered you my friend.”

Albus felt his knees weakening, tears streaming down his face as his body temperature rose to unprecedented highs. He laughed wildly, keeping his wand trained on her and his voice low. “Don’t you dare move, Gellert. This is the part where I turn you in. _Burn the letters,”_ Albus scoffed, “Burn the letters!

“Albus,” Susan said, rooted to the spot, “Get out of my office.”

Albus took a shaky breath. “ _Revelio._ ”

A bolt of shimmering magical energy shot from his wand tip, careening towards Susan. Albus squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for Gellert’s age-worn face, for his laugh. He would draw his wand and that would be it. The inevitable duel would happen right here in this office building, in the worst part of London. Albus might die, or if Gellert was feeling merciful, he would be taken hostage. It was all over.

“Oh my God.” Susan’s voice was small and breathless. Albus’s eyes snapped open and focussed. Her figure was huddled tightly on the chair. Her arms were raised defensively and her head tilted away. Albus could hear her choked sobs. He stumbled backwards onto the couch, wand still pointed at her.

“My God,” he repeated, fingers going slack around the wood, “I have gone crazy.”

“What did you do to me?” Susan sobbed, “What the hell is happening?”

Albus did the only thing he could think of. With a dark irony, he realized that selective memory removal had really always been his best option.

 

Minister Fawley was a short, balding man with a overhanging belly. He spoke in a wheezy voice and had a questionable taste in robes. Albus had never dreamed that he would have to beg the man for anything, let alone have the Minister be in control of his fate.

He had arrived here immediately after dropping Susan off at St. Mungo’s. Albus was in no way a specialist at memory hexes and wanted to make sure that she remained sharp, with no nasty side effects. It was just one conversation that he wanted to remove. Of course, making sure that she was well cared for meant that he immediately had to turn himself in.

“I have to say,” said the Minister of Magic, “I would never have expected this from you, Albus. Least of all in an emotional outburst. The whole thing seems beneath you.”

Albus nodded. “I’ve been very worried lately,” he explained, “The news of Grindelwald’s escape from America has me on edge.”

“I’ll say,” Minister Fawley sipped his mug of pumpkin juice, leaving an orange outline on his upper lip when he looked back up at Albus, “These are dark times, my friend. Which is exactly why we need you on this side of those Azkaban gates. Your place is at Hogwarts.”

“What?” Albus started. He had expected that the Minister might excuse him from prison, if he agreed to dropping his aspirations as a teacher and instead came to work for the Ministry. Fawley was letting him off too easily. There had to be something else.

“Of course, you’ll be expected to drop all communication with this muggle woman, lest she upset you again.”

“She didn’t upset me.” Albus started, “I --”

“Now, Albus,” Fawley smiled, walking around his desk to offer Albus a hand up with a wicked smile, “I don’t need to hear all the details of your relationship. I think it’s more than fair.”

Albus nodded gravely. His heart ached.

“Now, as far as she is concerned, she slipped on that icy staircase and hit her head,” Fawley explained, “You get to write her one last letter telling her that you’re ending it. That letter goes through the Ministry, you hear?”

Albus sighed. “Yes. I suppose that’s fair.”

“Good,” the Minister smiled, “I’m sorry, Albus. She was a pretty one. There’s plenty of fish in the sea, my friend. Plenty of _magical_ fish.”

He clapped Albus hard on the back, to which he visibly recoiled. Albus picked up his bag and coat and shoved them over his shoulder, posture sinking.

“One more thing,” Minister Fawley said, as Albus turned to go, “If you should choose to ignore the Ministry’s wishes and seek out Ms. Wybourne again, we will have no choice but to take the matter to court.”

“I understand,” said Albus.

The Minister chuckled heartily. “I knew you would,” he waved Albus out, “Happy New Year, Albus.”

 

Everything was the same. The students, eager faces refreshed from their recent break. The professors, board meetings and drinking nights, grading and chatting. The building, formidable and unyielding, with its caverns and towers and twists. The Prophet was always three days late with important news about the war, the Ministry incessant about including Albus in meetings he couldn’t refuse.

Nothing had changed, and yet, everything had changed. He spent his free time reading books by long-dead muggle philosophers or pouring over the pensieve, just as he had before.  Albus still received letters from Runa, demanding more interesting content, but he felt no desire to write or research. His classes lacked spirit, and he had overheard two fifth years chatting about whether or not Professor Dumbledore was getting enough sleep. When fifteen year olds are worried about your health, Albus thought, that means you’re in trouble.

One evening, Albus gave in. With the approval of the Ministry, he wrote Susan the quickest and kindest goodbye he could muster. He slept fitfully that night, drifting from nightmare to nightmare as the sky darkened outside his window. At least it was over, Albus thought to himself when his own shivering woke him, Susan deserved the closure.

Only, the closure never came. In its place, a return owl appeared at dawn, waking Albus with a loud wrapping of talons on his window. Albus scrambled out of bed to open it, thoughts buzzing through his mind. How had Susan sent an owl? His own letter wasn’t labelled with a return address, so even if she had written a letter, she couldn’t have possibly found him. Albus patted the owl’s feathers as it pecked sporadically, dropping the letter from its mouth into Albus’s open hand.

He could feel himself go numb as he turned the envelope over in his hands. _Susan Wybourne_ , read his own spindly handwriting. Above the recipient's name was a red stamp, Ministry standard. _Return To Sender._

The owl was sent to find Susan, no matter her location. Albus had considered all of the possibilities. Susan may have shut down her practice, taking the generous sum of money he had sent her and setting up a new life for herself. She might have moved. He had even considered that she would travel abroad, her injury prompting her to seek a change of pace. The bold stamp was a far worse omen. Either Susan had been killed, thought Albus, or she was in danger.

 

Albus nearly ran all the way up to the fifth floor of the building, brushed past the closed doors and past the waiting room. This is crazy, he thought to himself, standing in front of her office. For a fleeting second, he wondered if Fawley had put him up to this, just to see if he would fall for it.

He decided that it was impossible. For as much as the Ministry liked to flex its muscle, they needed Albus’s brain and prowess to aid in the war effort. If he was caught sneaking around behind their backs just to see Susan again, Albus had no doubt that Fawley would keep his word and hold a trial. The Minister was a man of principle. However, Fawley wasn’t dumb. There was no way that he would lay a trap and purposefully take his most valuable piece out of the game.

Albus raised his fist to the door and knocked twice. The creaking of the old building and the shifting of the furnace filled his ears as he waited. He knocked again, but louder.

“Looking for me?”

Albus jumped as Susan’s voice, almost sing-song, came out of nowhere behind him. He turned to face her, heart still racing, and breathed a deep sigh.

“Susan, I know you have no reason to trust me but we need to talk.”

Running a hand through her hair, Susan smiled. It was a far cry from how he had left her, ranting and crying. Albus was certain he had never seen Susan smile this much. Had the Ministry done something to her? His hands squeezed into fists as he remembered the sad excuse for a mind malady ward at St. Mungo’s. They wouldn’t have pumped a muggle full of _Felicitas_ potion. They couldn’t.

“You look distressed, Albus,” said Susan, not breaking her smile, “Of course we can sit down and talk. I have all the time in the world.”

Albus shivered as she brushed past him, into her office. She smelled familiar, like an extinguished candle, or a wood after a bonfire. It smelled like a distant memory.

“It’s been a long time, _liebling,”_ said his friend, the memory, sitting beside him on the couch instead of at Susan’s desk, “I’ve read all of her notes, my dear. I’ve missed you too.”

Albus’s eyes flooded with realization, blooming soft little tears below his spectacles.  The smiling, the voice, the smell of smothered flames. Of course.

“Gellert,” he said, voice ragged, “It’s you.”

“It is,” Gellert agreed, “After all this time.”

Albus took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. He felt tired. Even if he wanted to fight, even if he could do anything, his heart was simply too heavy. He only hoped Susan...

“Susan Wybourne is fine,” said Gellert, reading his mind, “I always told you that you could keep your assorted muggle artists and writers and musicians safe and sound. Besides, she was very useful.”

Albus sighed, and looked directly at Gellert, whose mannerisms cut through Susan’s body. “Why would you do this?”

“Five letters,” Susan’s lip twitched, “Not a word. I was curious how you were getting on without me.”

“You were _curious_?”

“I look at the empty throne every day,” said Gellert, “Your place by my side, Albus. Being a school teacher doesn’t suit you, my darling, and you are miserable there.”

“Gellert,” started Albus, but he didn’t know what to say.

“Ah, said Gellert, “You want me to beg you. You _would_ want that.” He slowly lowered Susan’s body, cat like, off of the couch, onto her knees before Albus. Wide-set hazel eyes fluttered beneath long lashes and Gellert clasped her hands together before him.

“Come join me, Albus,” Gellert whispered, “ _Please_ , come sit at my side.”

Albus swallowed, his body unsure what to do with itself, as it struggled through mixed signals of arousal and disgust. “You’ve ruined every relationship I’ve ever had, Gellert,” he said, straining for his voice to come out even, “Every potential lover, every potencial friendship.”

“I don’t think you understand,” hissed Gellert through his teeth, “I _want_ you, Albus. I _need_ you. And clearly,” Gellert pulled Susan’s body forward so that her head rested in Albus’s lap, looking up at him, “You need me.”

“Kindly get off of the floor and stop violating my friend’s body,” said Albus, “Susan would never be caught dead doing that.”

Gellert laughed and pulled himself back up on the couch beside Albus. “As you wish. You’ve changed a lot since you were eighteen, you know.”

“It’s been almost thirty years,” The comment caught Albus off-guard, _of course_ he had changed. When he thought about it, though, he really hadn’t changed until this last year. “You’ve been standing in the way of my life for almost thirty years.” Albus realized aloud.

“That’s one way to look at it,” Gellert said, “but I think you’ve been holding back. You can’t deny that we were unstoppable together. We had something unstoppable.”

“Maybe we did.”

They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Susan’s head leaned back and Gellert shut her eyes. “There’s no winning here, Albus. You report me and you go on trial, probably straight to Azkaban if I know the British Ministry. I can freely take on the world without you. You don’t report me, and I get my way. I get to talk to you, like I’m doing now. I get to make my case and I get to bask in it. It’s healing, Albus.” He let out a sigh.

Albus reached down to pick up the briefcase at his feet. “I’m going to leave now, Gellert.”

Susan’s eyes shot open. “Oh, are you? I shouldn’t be surprised with your thirty years of doing nothing, that you continue it. So go to your classes, grade your papers, write your funny little column. Your students don’t keep you young, Albus, they can’t keep you from growing up and moving on. Only I can keep you there forever. Leave now and stay stuck, my darling. Come with me and we outrun Death.”

“It’s funny, Gellert,” Albus shook his head, “You still have a gift for language, but you gave away your immortality when you decided to meet me here.”

 

Spring came early that year, and by late March, green was already beginning to emerge from the slush that covered the Hogwarts grounds. The excited chatter of students quieted as the common rooms became study halls and the library filled to its brink. Albus spent time outside of class helping his students prep for their O.W.L.s and his days were busy from morning until evening, consulting fifth years about their future career goals.

In the evenings, he wrote for the column. His latest piece was called _Keeping Death At The Door: Inside The Philosopher’s Stone,_ and dedicated, simply _to Susan_. He had chosen the topic because he knew it would require him to reach out to Nicholas, who was back in Britain for a spell. With overflowing mugs of Butterbeer in hand, they discussed the potential for Nicholas’s new discovery long into the night. Albus knew that if Susan could see him, she would be proud.

She never saw him again. Albus had made sure of that. Once, he let himself wander outside of her office building just to make sure the light was still flickering up there. When Albus confirmed that it was, he special ordered a typewriter to be sent to her, along with a note that read _thank you._ (He still wasn’t sure what a typewriter was used for, and quite frankly, by the time he was purchasing one, he was too afraid to ask.)

Time marched on proudly, no matter who dug their heels in or clung to the past. These days, Albus felt neither nor young, nor trapped by his youth. He felt his age in his kneecaps and teeth, in his back and hips and he saw the world stretch ahead of him for miles. He smiled when his first years, still children with lives to live ahead, asked if they’d see him next year. Albus hoped for nothing less.

For the first time since he was eighteen, he felt like the stars were aligning for him. Albus put his pensieve beneath a cover and moved the Mirror of Erised to a forbidden wing of the castle.

It’s working, Albus thought to himself as he watched a pair of students chase each other around the sprouting foliage. It’s working, Albus thought to himself as he met with the Minister to look over a tactical map of Europe. It’s working, Albus thought as he laughed through a date with the handsome bookkeeper who worked at the _Obscurus_ office in Diagon Alley _._ It’s working, Albus thought as he woke up from a dream - so vivid and life-like - of himself and Gellert sitting on twin thrones in the sky.


End file.
